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2014.02.15 - Late night with Frankie
The docks at night. Not the safest place to be. There were wharf rats that had carried off men bigger than some of the people that dared to go here at night, drug dealers, stolen cars being shipped in and out. However this night it's one of those issues in fact that leads to the scene that unfolds. A drug deal goes bad, people get angry, nervous and eventually guns get involved. There is blood, one man already dead with another limping into the night, also leaking from a hole just south of his kneecap on the left leg. Organized crime members were usually forbidden by their superiors to push smack, because the prison terms were so lengthy they would almost always rat, so this guy did not want to get caught, despite his injury. Of course, he might not have expected the next surprise he was going to get. She was alone, and she was out to feed. Anyone stumbling across them would find the creep pushed up against a wall, with what looked like a woman in a fur coat bent over him. Safe. Never. Wharf rats. Some had a good story. So does Frank. Gettin' new ones to tell every day. Those same folks that likes to draw guns have usually made bad choices in the past. Some of them end up on a list. One of those, the man who shot Dizzies victim. A.K.A Franks Victim. Or as he might see it, the man who beat him to it. Curious on that he follows. Kids are so flashy. Fucker looks like he's cryin' When the pile of fur descends upon him Frank stops, a bent knee taken while he watches. Punishment in the form of someone else? He considers. Hands slowly reaching inside his coat. The poor schmo who Frank had been looking for was staring glassily up into a pale orange orange light used to help give view while containers were lifted in. His mouth was partly creaked open, and besides the metallic reek of blood there was also the strench of where he'd unloaded in his trousers, the embarrassing but true face of death. Nearby there was no sound as the two figured were seemingly intertwined in that lurid embrace, whoever it had been might, in different circumstances even be mistaken for the man's date for the evening, thanks to the coat. However this was not the time or the place for pimping. A sharp hiss, or intake of breath and the woman exhaled, droplets of blood momentarily sailing through the air as she drew her head quite a ways back, as if she needed the air, or maybe was riding on some kind of high. There was blood around her lips and down the man's front, staining his collar the shoulder of his button up shirt. He'd been wearing a suit, like a classy punk. Back in the city. Why should I be surprised? The ole' vet doesn't hesitate now, those hands that went so slowly in now come out. Right hand gripping a small 22. Semi-auto of unclear make and his left a Surefire flashlight. 200 Lumens of /blinding/ light and a serated edge. Clicking the tactical device on he moves it to determine just exactly what is going on. 9 shots might not be enough. Gettin' too old for this big city shit The sudden light casts a hellish and insane view on the scene before Frank, the 'woman' giving a shriek as she pulled back from the now quite bloody and stunned man, bat-like features clearly visible as she turned and stumbled back from the source of the light, her arms rising and crossing over her front as she tries to shield her eyes from the sudden, surprising glare. The front of that coat is open and there is a tightly synched shiny red corset supporting a pair of rather nice tits, though this is only one part of this surreal puzzle, as they belong to a woman with long dark hair, pink ribbed bat ears and a body clad in white fur. "Who the hell--" Right when I thought I'd seen it a-. Actually. Yea. Punisher #420 Castle lowers the light. It's on. Ask Moonlight. It's /Bright/. He does not blind her though. The illumination is on the half-finished man. Why waist ammo? He deserves it anyhow "Finish it." Castle motions with the pistol for her to finish. He will make sure the deed is done. Occasional glances back. Stepping back, there is the sound of boots against the dirty pavement, the bat woman clawing at her eyes and trying to blearily get them to refocus, shaking her head. "What?" she sounds like hse might have been high in fact, or just woken up from maybe a nap, or some kind of stupor. "I wasn't gonna kill him," she looks between the dazed mobster and Frank Castle, though her eyes can't make out who he is yet, she can sure hear him well enough. "Just doing this this way so you superhero types don't get on my back about it..." she squints and brushes the back of her hand over her lips, wiping some of the blood off. Heh. This things brighter than I thought. Castle grins though it would be impossible to see it. He listens, his eyes on her, the light on him. When she calls him a superhero the gun moves quick to her head. There it stays ever so briefly till it points at the near corpse. "I don't wan;t on your back. Kill him or decide if you'll eat him after he expires. Count of three.....One." Castle clicks back the hammer. That light shines on the spot where entry with the cheap ammunition will be made, his brown eyes on her. Course, come to think of it, she didn't remember Flash or anyone pointing a gun at her head, so maybe this wasn't exactly such a hero. She grimaced and peered suspiciously at the weapon pointed at her, raising a brow. "I don't want that on my head, I got enough problems," she folded her arms a little defiantly, shaking her head a bit. "You can waste the sucker if that's what you want," she stepped back a little, perhaps not wanting to get any spray on her coat. Guess she don't mind 'em dead. About the time she says 'sucker' the small pistol fires. The cap-gun like sound echoing briefly. A small dime size hole opens up in the mans skull and a small trickle of blood begins to emerge. No spray from the small gun. He clicks the light off. "All yours." His first few steps will be backwards. His eyes on the scene. The sound seems to make her recoil more than the flash, though she steps aside from the now dead meat, though there was no spray like she had assumed. He got it right in the head, usually mob killings were in the throat, or maybe under the chin. Diz eyed the man and slowly stepped back to the now cooling body, stepping down and re-ravaging her previous entry wound, now with more abandon since the man was already quite dead. She seemed to get an almost sexual kick out of it, but just for a minute. Licking her lips with a grin, a switch blade was produced from her coat pocket and the blade snikt out, carving across the marks and deliberately mutilating them to prevent identification. The police wouldn't be looking for a 6 foot bat bitch, but folks like Dr. Strange or Constantine might. Now there was just a ragged gash where two pin prick marks had been. Frank takes notice of her last movements. He knows what to make of it and truth be told, he's getting old. The job is done. He lets the girl have her kill. God knows he's had his. A few more steps back and he turns, a brisk pace set as he leaves the docks. His jet black GTO waiting a bit away. The sounds of his tires screeching noting his departure. Gas is up. Awtta' stop before I hit Jersey Category:Log